The Joy Famine
There is a version of the world where all it takes is a quick look on social media, a checking of the latest news, or a casual eavesdropping of buzzing city conversations — and you feel it.
A soup of fear.
There is a version of the world where we are being led to believe that we are more divided than ever, where differing opinions destroy interdependence, and where we’d rather be anywhere but our bodies.
A place where trust in Life is burning as quickly as a raging fire lighting up an entire forest.
There is a version of the world that is suffering from famine.
A famine of belonging. A famine of joy. A famine of delight.
Yet, like in all great mythology –
we know there is never just one version of the world
There is a version of the world where roses swell with blooms whose very existence is Sufi poetry comes to life.
A place where birdsongs chorus a symphony of recognition of each other and – of you.
Where cool wild waters envelop your naked body, holding you in the womb of all Creation
There is a version of the world where on walks, bike rides, and rollerblades — we are utterly delighted to see each other out — enjoying the world.
Where your neighborhood is a place of kind hello’s and fresh eggs, bread, and flowers dropped off at random.
Where you lock eyes with a stranger and, rather than turning away, offer a subtle smile and nod of recognition. “We’re in this together, this wild messy human thing,” — you say with your eyes.
A place where the yelps and shrieks of children playing are background music. A reminder that there is an entire mass of beings alive on this planet — immersed in a world of wonder, innocence, and play.
There is a version of the world where we return to that burned forest where trust went up in flames and recognize that amidst mass destruction, life is not only stirring — but coming back stronger. More resilient.
In this same forest — saplings abound, soil fertility increases exponentially, and mycelium and worms move in droves.
We are bursting from the magnificent arms of Death, choosing Life!
the trust we thought we had lost was simply ripe for purification
Overcrowded, overgrown, and out of touch with the deep well in the Earth where courage is born. We had become lost in the noise of chaos — unable to contact the eternal joy that hymns underneath all existence.
The kind of joy whose omnipresent hum nourishes your entire being upon awakening from the soup of fear. The joy that bubbles up from extricating your nervous system from a version of the world that profits off of your pain. The joy that bursts like geysers from your being when you recognize that, just like the Earth, you are not broken and hopeless. You are simply becoming anew.
You are a seed held underground. You are the tiny sapling who said now. Now, when it appears all hope is lost — I will rise. Now, when it seems that all that’s left is to give up, I will choose Life.
And as we, baby saplings, gently root and rise — born of mycelium and mushrooms who composted every parasitic infestation, held by the nutrients of purified soil, grown from the decay of the Old Growths who came before us, and welcomed by the chorus of birdsongs — all we know is joy.
There is no famine here. Only the spiral of Life-Death-Life. An unflinchingly rooted Belonging. And the boundless innocence, wonder, and wisdom of a baby sapling who has been here thousands of times.
